Matter Of Taste
by Emilie Yun
Summary: John tries something overboard - he changes the tea brand. Fluff drabble/ficlet. Established Sherlock/John.


It's supposed to be a completely ordinary Saturday morning. At 9am John sits down with a cup of tea and the daily newspaper. Sherlock is hunched strangely in his chair, already a similar cup warming his long fingers, and John can't help thinking he's probably got a spine made of rubber. Then again, John wouldn't be too surprised to find out his colleague, friend and current (sociopath) lover was, in fact, related to reptiles, so maybe the detective's posture isn't that terrifying after all.

It's going to be a lovely day. Morning sun peeks behind the fluffy clouds, lightening up the streets of London. John is on a good mood, has been all morning. He slept well and has no work today. Sherlock didn't wake him up at 6am for some absolutely ridiculous reason, which has been happening quite often during the last three weeks.

He opens the newspaper and reads the first-page topics with slight, yet vague interest. The Prime Minister is apparently divorcing his wife, even more earthquakes are shaking the luxurious fake islands in Dubai, someone has found six dead bodies from a hotel room, and Katie Price has a new man. John hums at the news, ready to open the next page, when a voice coming from the excuse of a living room startles him.

"John?"

The doctor turns to look at his flatmate, who is still curled up in an armchair, staring into his tea cup with a burrowing frown.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"You have changed our tea brand."

At first John blinks confusedly, but his surprise doesn't last long. This is Sherlock Holmes. One would be a lunatic to expect him not notice something such as a change in a tea brand.

"I have," John admits and turns to look back at his newspaper. "I got bored."

"Bored? How come?" Sherlock asks, but it's easy to hear from his voice he's not actually _asking _anything. He's talking while deducting in his head. "You have been drinking Lipton Red Tea as long as I've known you."

"Well, I think that justifies my boredom," John answers casually and flips the page, eyes flickering over the inked lines.

"You're a creature of habit, John," Sherlock states. "You never depart from the routine if possible. You don't get bored. What is this tea, anyway?"

"It's Yorkshire Gold. Do you like it?"

For a moment, there is no answer. John turns to look at his friend again and finds him staring at him, sharp eyes almost drilling holes in the doctor's head.

John has already gotten used to Sherlock reading and deducting people, has gotten used to the way the man seems sometimes like a mindreader. He's also gotten accustomed to the fact Sherlock doesn't really care if he insults or hurts someone with his results, and sees people mostly objectively, as puzzles, as cases. Yet John curses under his breath when he feels his ears turning slowly into a shade of red.

"There is a deeper reason to this," Sherlock finally phrases. "Go on, John. You have awaken my interest."

"I just tasted it and liked it, okay," John huffs and glares at the other man shortly. "Nothing bigger than that."

"If it was just that, you wouldn't be reacting like this to my concern," Sherlock points out. "You're blushing."

"I am not," John retorts childishly, even though he can't truly disagree. His ears feel almost hot, and the warmth has started spreading towards his cheeks, too.

"But you're-"

"Just forget it, Sherlock. Forget it. I bought new tea, that's it. Drink it and let me read my newspaper in peace."

"But I can't-"

"It's _tea_, Sherlock."

"Why are you being so defensive?"

"I'm not being defensive, I'm just tired of discussing this!"

"You're trying to avoid the topic!"

"Sherlock, shut up and _drink_."

"Are you trying to poison me?"

"It's tea, not cyanide!"

John's good mood is gone. He glares at Sherlock, hands clutching the newspaper almost violently. The man is sometimes absolutely insufferable.

There is an echoing silence, but not for long. Sherlock glances at his cooling tea, then John, and then his tea again. The frown on his face doesn't smooth out. Something closely resembling anxiety starts to pool in John's stomach.

"But why did you change it?"

That's it. His morning peace has officially been canceled. John doesn't bother folding the paper, but stands up with his tea, about to go upstairs. His mouth is nothing but a thin line, and the blush still hasn't faded completely. He's frustrated: John knows that his actions will make the detective even more interested, perhaps concerned, but this is a subject he wants to avoid at any costs.

The doctor turns and attempts to walk away without a word, but Sherlock is faster, walking elegantly but rather quickly in front of him and blocking his way in one, lithe move. His frown is deeper than ever, and he looks his friend up and down.

"The subject makes you nervous, and you don't want to talk about it," he almost mutters. "You seem nearly angry. You're embarrassed. Why?"

"Sherlock, it's just _tea_."

"Well, not to you, obviously. There is something deeper in this change than only taste. Is this some social protocol I am not aware of?"

John curses in his mind as he feels the betraying warmth getting stronger around his ears and cheeks. It's not a girly or shy blush, more like the bodification of embarrassment.

"It's just... I..." he mumbles, searching for words he's lost.

"Yes?" Sherlock asks, now looking curious.

"It's... The taste..."

"What about it?"

"I... You... I thought you would taste better... With that brand."

There's another silence that now rings in John's ears. He refuses to look Sherlock in the eye. They can be considered as a couple of some sort, yes, but Sherlock Holmes is not exactly experienced in longterm romantical relationships, not to mention displays of affection. Even sex is still an issue to him – it '_prevents him from thinking_'. Thinking of things like these feels foolish.

That's why John never expects it when another set of lips presses over his own. He looks up, not realizing to close his eyes immediately. It's a kiss. Not necessarily deep or passionate, but short, light and sweet. Sherlock's lips seem to melt against John's, soft and pleasant. The taller man tastes more like toothpaste than tea, but John doesn't mind, not now. Their bodies don't touch, hands never wander, but the kiss stays. In the faint morning light and on cool wooden floors it's very close to perfection. Moments like this are rare with the detective, and John lingers in the kiss as long as possible, but doesn't complain when Sherlock finally pulls away.

"You're an idiot, John," he says, but there's a different tone to his voice than normally, a tone that makes John shiver in the best of ways. He waltzes past his friend, back to his beloved chair, leaving the doctor stand alone in the end of the staircase.

John smiles the whole day. He could try green tea next.


End file.
